


The Light That Brings the Dawn

by hopelessbookgeek



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, F/M, M/M, king AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The singers make much of kings who die valiantly in battle, but your life is worth more than a song.” I like Achievement Hunter, I like medieval AUs, and so here's a collection of drabbles. Not every love story is something that singers would sing about, but every love story is worth hearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Laws of Gods and Men

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Back at it again with stupid AUs. I've named the work, every chapter, and the description after lines from "A Song of Ice and Fire" but I PROMISE these are just generic medieval AUs. I just really like "A Song of Ice and Fire". Well, the first chapter is Mavin, the next will be R&R Connection. If there are any pairings/prompts you guys want to see, leave a comment and I'll absolutely do that!

“It’s a good thing you kiss better than you fight,” Michael murmured under his breath. It was late, perhaps three hours past midnight, because night was the only time he and Gavin could meet and be together in the way they wanted to.

“You don’t kiss _quite_ as well as you fight, but then, you fight very well, so it’s still a good thing.” Gavin smiled up at Michael from where he was curled against his chest. This little cabin at the edge of Michael’s property was usually abandoned– the groundskeeper who’d owned it had died long ago– and so it was their safe house, their refuge, the place where the laws of gods and men that said marriage must be between a man and a woman didn’t exist. The room was small, and then mostly taken up by a bed, but seemed larger with all the windows. It was through those that the moonlight could come in, and made Michael’s hair look dark and soft.

Michael sighed and pulled Gavin up closer. “You’re a pain in my ass, did you know that? I’m going to have to explain where I got all these bruises now. What did we tell them last time?”

“Fell from your horse.”

“Alright. Perhaps this time… No, you’re not good enough with lance or sword or anything to make me look like this.”

“I’m good enough with my mouth.” Gavin winked and Michael sighed again.

“Shut up.”

“Shut up, _m’lord_.”

“If we say you challenged me to a fight while I was drunk… Yes, that could work. Everyone’s seen me properly drunk, they know I’m unsteady,” Michael said thoughtfully.

“Why does it have to be me, though? Isn’t everyone suspicious that your accidents are always involved with me?”

“My cock is always involved with you. The fewer lies, the more likely it is we’ll be believed. Besides, everyone knows I’m married to your sister, and that we’re friends– of sorts– and that you’re enough of an idiot to challenge me to a fight, even if I was drunk.” He touched Gavin’s hair softly as a quiet gesture of apology for being rude. He tried to say these things aloud, he truly did, but the words always stuck in his throat and he had to console him with touches and smiles instead.

It had been two years since Michael had married Gavin’s sister. It wasn’t for love, but of convenience; when she had been discovered in bed with one of the serving girls, her father had found the closest semi-suitable man to marry her. In actuality it was a fair choice for both. She got to keep the serving girl on and Michael collected a sizable dowry, and it spared him suspicion about his own illicit activities involving the company of other men. He didn’t mean to fall in love with Gavin, but that hadn’t stopped him.

They met in the training yard at Gavin’s father’s manor, a week before the wedding. Michael trained early, at dawn every morning to keep his skills sharp, and this morning Gavin was out there too, performing some atrocious-looking maneuvers with a two-handed broadsword. It was surprising he could even hold the thing, really, with his skinny arms. Michael had helped him correct his balance and his form, his hands over Gavin’s on the blade and pommel, and their faces had been so close… It had barely been an hour before they tumbled together into the hay bales in the stables.

Of course, as brothers-in-law, they had to spend a fair amount of time together, and Michael grew to enjoy Gavin’s company more and more out of bed. He was intelligent, even if his curious questions presented themselves foolishly, and he was slow to learn but persistent and diligent. He had a sharp sense of humor. Michael couldn’t imagine loving anyone the way he loved Gavin.

“The tournament is tomorrow,” Gavin reminded Michael softly. That’s right. The king had taken a wife at last and had invited the highest lords of the land (of which Gavin was one, since his father had died in the past year) and their attendant families to join him for a celebration. Michael, as one of the most talented fighters in the country, had already signed up to joust.

“That’s right. If I hide the bruises until then, I could easily blame them on being dehorsed, or a blow from an errant lance.” He kissed Gavin’s temple. He wanted to say thank you, that was a very smart thing to think of, but as always the words were too soft and made him too vulnerable. He settled for the kisses. Gavin always knew what he meant by them, anyway.

“I suppose you’ll win again and present the crown to my sweet sister.” The winner of the jousts was presented with a crown of flowers to award to the woman of his choosing. It was something of a scandal when a man didn’t choose his lady wife.

“I always win.” The last time he’d won, his wife had left the crown on the table and Gavin had worn it while Michael rode him. He hoped to repeat the experience.

There was silence for a little while, while the night air came alive with crickets and soft sounds from the stables. Gavin’s breathing was so even and soft that Michael thought he’d fallen asleep on his chest. He didn’t mind. Gavin was warm, and any time that the normally shy man fell asleep before pulling his underclothes back on, if not his breeches, was pleasant.

“Michael?” Gavin’s voice, thick with sleep, was one of the most beautiful sounds Michael had ever heard.

“Yes?”

“I know… what we do isn’t easy… That is, it’s difficult to keep things hidden, and we don’t always have the time that we’d like…”

“Very true.”

“But… I’m glad we have it. This. Whatever this is. It’s not always easy but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Just– just so you know.”

Michael moved into a better position so that he could embrace Gavin properly, burying his face in his neck. Gavin always smelled like salt and sweat and fresh bread. Familiar, warm. “I know,” he said, and that was the closest to _I love you_ that he’d ever come.


	2. The Lion and the Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a weakness for selfish characters falling in love with selfless characters, so here we go. Next time will be Juggey (is there a new ship name now that they're married?).

It was tradition for all-day festivities to be held every year on the anniversary of the day the king or queen took the throne. They varied in enthusiasm based on the popularity of the monarch in question; this year, marking the third year in the reign of Good King Ray, the celebration was raucous. Men were drunk before noon and women wore their finest silks and jewels.

No one had ever _asked_ if Ray wanted these celebrations, of course. He’d known for years now that there are a fair amount of things that even kings have no control over. He might have tried harder to stop the ceremonies but for one crucial thing: the tournaments of the day always drew in the knights, the young lords, anyone hungry for glory. And that mean, inevitably, Ryan.

Ryan Haywood was many things that Ray was not. He was of low birth and high cunning, tall and strong and fair where Ray was lithe and dark, brash and smoldering and utterly at home in his own skin. Men wanted to wear his armor. Women wanted to wear his ring. Ray just wanted him.

It wasn’t just that he looked as if he’d been personally shaped by God, though Ray wouldn’t deny that was a part of it. He was brave and confident. He was intelligent, though he took care to pretend that he was not. (“Safer that way,” he said.) He walked with a swagger in his step and a smirk curling up his mouth. And, as Ray couldn’t help but notice when he proclaimed Ryan the victor of the mêlée, he looked at his king with fire burning in his blue eyes.

It was customary for victors to make a request of their king, because it was customary for kings to be generous on the day that celebrated their reign (it was good luck and an easy way to win the love of the people). Most often victors requested gold or leave to marry a woman of higher birth than they. Ryan never did. He always asked for a private audience with the king, and he always won.

As soon as the door closed on the room where Ray held his private audiences, Ryan planted his broad hands firmly on the king’s narrow waist and kissed him, unrestrained and passionate. That was what always weakened Ray, in the end. Ryan’s hands clutched at Ray’s clothing, red velvet cape and silk shirt, as though he didn’t care that those clothes cost more than he would make in a year. He didn’t treat Ray as a king, but as a lover.

Ray was a candle, steady and warm, but Ryan was like starting a fire in a wooden house. It’ll keep you warm and then it will burn your world to ashes. His hands were hot as they traced the narrow lines of Ray’s body, his nails digging into back and thigh like kneading dough, bringing the room to life with hisses and groans where Ray was quiet.

“Hush, the guards will hear you,” Ray murmured once, but Ryan just laughed and pulled Ray by the hips back onto him.

“If it were up to me, they’d be hearing you, but you stubbornly insist on keeping your mouth shut.” He molded himself to Ray’s shape, his chest to Ray’s back, so that he could nip at Ray’s neck and earlobe. “At least you wore the crown this time. I like you in the crown.” He punctuated every few words with a roll of his hips that made Ray suck in his breath.

When they had finished, they curled up on a pile of cushions under the wide, arch window to let the breeze come in. Ray’s slim fingers flitted to each of Ryan’s scars and bruises. He smiled at a few new red marks that he himself had made. Eventually he touched a patchwork of slate and violet skin a few inches above Ryan’s hipbone, and when even the barest brush against it made Ryan wince, Ray frowned. “Who gave you this?”

“Some poor bastard down the docks.”

“What did you do to him?” Ryan always gave as good as he got, and he usually started the fights.

“I may have bashed his head into a table and thrown him in the bay. I said I may have,” he insisted when he saw Ray’s face. “I’m sure someone fished him out eventually. Hypothetically.”

“What the hell did he have to do to earn that?”

Ryan tightened his jaw, smirk nowhere in sight. “Said that it was mighty suspicious that you haven’t married yet. Said that mayhaps you found your pleasures elsewhere. Then he made some lewd gestures, possibly a few more insinuations, I’m not sure, I wasn’t listening anymore.”

“ _Ryan_. First of all, I’m not even five-and-twenty, that I’m as yet unmarried isn’t so odd, and besides, I _do_ take my pleasures elsewhere, such as with _you_. Did you near to kill a man for telling the truth?”

“It was the way he said it, like there was nothing more worthy of jest or condemnation than you preferring men to women.” He settled those eyes on Ray, hard and soft at the same time. Ray had spent weeks searching for jewels that could match the color of Ryan’s eyes and came up with nothing. “He was insulting me and he was insulting you. I’m not unused to men insulting me, but I won’t have them condemning you for mere desire.”

Was it mere desire? Ryan had always treated Ray like a lover, but never like this. Ray had loved Ryan for almost as long as he’d known him, as long as he’d desired him, but he’d never seen any hint that those feelings were reciprocated. “What a few men by the docks joke about when they’re in their cups doesn’t harm me in any way. It doesn’t even affect me. Don’t get yourself in trouble with the law for my sake.”

Ryan glanced away from him in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. If there was anything Ryan Haywood had never been, it was shy. “If not for your sake, then for whose?”

At that Ray lost his heart all over again.


	3. Kissed by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Michael Jones once said, "fuck that Juggey shit". But here it is anyway. Next chapter will be Freewood with a twist.

“A’ _said_ no, a’ _meant_ no, an’ if ye come ‘round again talkin’ ‘bout marrying my daughter, ah’ll _hang_ ye!”

Michael left the little house in a hurry. This was the third Sunday in a row he’d come to ask the old man about courting his daughter, and the third time he’d been chased away. He’d taken care to make this try his best; he’d gone down to the docks to gamble for enough to buy himself some new clothes in clean, rich leather and fine linen. He practiced what he would say over and over until he’d scrubbed the peasant’s accent from his voice. He made himself the very image of the courtly young knight (which, admittedly, he’d never once acted since he was knighted over five years ago) and still the old bastard wouldn’t have him.

If it were up to him, he’d have laughed the old man out of the village, but for Lindsay. Clever, kind, beautiful Lindsay. They had grown up together, played come-into-my-castle together as children. And then they had grown older, and she blossomed from a skinny little girl into a real lady. Well, not a lady, but if you didn’t know she was from one of the poorest villages in the North, you’d think she was highborn, maybe even a princess.

They met almost every night at Michael’s home, the home he hoped to live in with her. That had been her idea. As soon as she arrived, generally around midnight, clothes would melt away like spring snows and they’d fall into bed together. (That had been her idea too. For all that Michael was known as a rogue, ale in hand and curses ready on his tongue, he’d never been anything but a gentleman with her.)

Out of her brown roughspun shift, her skin was pale as cream and the freckles on the curve of her hip made a constellation, and if Michael were more of a poet he’d say that was because Lindsay was the whole universe to him but he was just a lowborn knight and so all he thought to say was “c’mere and let me kiss you”.

Lindsay was by far the most extraordinary person Michael had ever met. She could make him smile when he was at his most miserable. She had kind eyes and a natural comfort to her presence, like she was always at peace with herself and always at peace with everyone else, and it was incredibly calming. 

“I’m sorry that my father said no again,” she said softly. It was early morning, just before dawn, and they were sitting around the table breaking their fast with bread and apples. It was cool, and Lindsay had Michael’s cloak around her shoulders. The blackness of the cloak combined with the candlelight made her dark red hair glow like flame.

“Ah, it’s alright. I should have expected it. He wants to hand you off to some rich lord so that he can boast to all his friends that _his_ grandchildren are going to be lords and ladies. He cares nothing for your happiness and less for mine.”

Her answering smile was sweet as honey. “Perhaps if you hadn’t shouted at him after the first time he said no to you courting me. What is it you told him? He’d better hope for grandsons because…”

“Because he wasn’t going to sire any sons when his old cock is less use than a piece of boiled squid.” Even as Lindsay laughed, Michael clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, he always lost his temper, and perhaps if he hadn’t he might still have a chance to get a blessing on his marriage to Lindsay. “Are you sure you won’t run away with me? We could leave now, I’d buy you anything you wanted, a nice house by the sea, pretty gowns… Your father wouldn’t ever find us.”

She dropped her eyes to the apple slice she had been about to eat. “I… I love you, Michael, but he’s still my father. I’m his only child, I can’t just abandon him. At least you live nearby.”

“If I were wealthier, would your father love me more? Would you?”

“My father may, yes. I’d love you if you were the king or a stableboy. Your wealth matters very little to me.” After that, Michael kissed her goodbye so she could get home before her father awoke and set about to planning.

 

***

 

Lindsay spent the day doing her chores. She milked the old dairy cow, collected the eggs from the chickens, and plucked the one from the market for dinner. She set the laundry out on the line to dry, swept the floor, and scrubbed the tables until the scratched, pitted wood shone. Or at least, as much as it would ever shine.

She’d been quite proud of the way she got their rickety old cottage to look nice, until her father walked in just before dinner, boots leaving muddy tracks on her new-swept floors. He sniffed the air, looked over at where the chicken was cooking over the fire, and made a disgusted face. “Chicken _again_? Can ye not cook anythin’ else? A’ wanted _venison_.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” she answered calmly. “And besides, we can’t afford a haunch of venison right now–”

His hand came up and cracked across her cheek. She was so surprised that she stumbled back and fell onto her elbows; for all her father’s crossness and sometimes cruel words, he’d never once raised a hand to her. “Shut yer mouth,” he growled. “Ye’ll obey me, yer my daughter. Th’ Jones boy’s givin’ ye ideas, makin’ ye think ye can talk back t’ me like that. Well, ye can’t. A’ went over t’ his place special t’ tell him not t’ come back ‘round here lookin’ fer ye. Made him write it out.”

He tossed a piece of parchment her way and stomped out again, slamming the door behind him. Lindsay was so shocked by all of it that she didn’t even think about crying; she’d known that her father wasn’t strictly a good man for years now, but after her mother died they’d only had each other. Where was the father who had carried her on his shoulders at tournaments so she could see the jousts? Where was the father who had watched out the window to make sure Michael wasn’t playing too rough with her? Gone, apparently.

After a little while, she remembered the parchment. She doubted it said that Michael promised to stay away from her, but her father had never learned to read so he wouldn’t know either way. Michael had taught her letters a few years ago, so she opened it up and started reading.

_I’m leaving next Sunday to seek fortunes elsewhere. If you’ll come with me, leave a lantern in your window. If you won’t come, I promise to come back for you when I can convince your father to let me have his blessing. Brave heart, Lindsay. I love you. –Michael_

The handwriting was messy, childish, but Lindsay understood all the same. She wouldn’t be able to see Michael in person until Sunday, if she chose to go with him. Should she go? What did ‘seeking fortunes’ mean? Probably something dangerous, knowing Michael. Her father was at least safe, even if he wasn’t the most friendly. He would protect her as long as he didn’t know she  
still loved Michael.

That thought consumed her for the next week. Her father didn’t hit her again, didn’t even mention the purpling bruise on her cheek. He didn’t complain about her cooking and wiped his boots before he came into the house.

Lindsay had even started to feel bad about the fact that she’d considered abandoning her father when Sunday rolled around again. The day went on as it always did, Mass in the morning and chores in the afternoon, until her father came home in early evening. “Glad th’ boy didn’t try t’ come ‘round again!” His voice was thick with liquor. “A’ was afraid ye’d turned into a whore like yer mother.”

Lindsay smiled and lit a thin strip of wood from the fire burning in the hearth. “What are ye doin’?” her father said.

“Just making it a little brighter,” she answered sweetly as she lit the lantern and hung it in the window.


	4. A Man Without Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freewood... WITH A TWIST! Next chapter will be Geoff/Jack. Please comment with any prompts or pairings you want to see, or this fic will come to an end after next chapter! (Which, you know, maybe you want. I don't know you.) I only ask that you submit Achievement Hunter pairings only, because I'm not familiar enough with the rest of the Rooster Teeth employees. I'm sorry about that.

“My lady? Are you ready?” The steward came in just as the red-headed maid was setting the crown upon the queen’s head. Queen Gavina, who went by Gav, was to choose a husband this day, and had dressed for the occasion in a gown of flowing green silk and a spun-gold crown set with emeralds.

This wasn’t a strictly necessary procedure– the country had traditionally been ruled by women, and so she didn’t need a consort to strengthen her claim to the throne– but if she produced no heirs, the throne would pass to her younger sister and her family. Which was fine, truly, but Gav also wanted someone to warm her bed and she couldn’t exactly state that reason before the whole court.

“Yes, thank you.” She swept out of the room, down the stairs, and out to the yard, where the tournament would take place. Wooden spectator’s stands had hastily been constructed and a throne set out for her. The manner by which a king or queen may choose a husband or wife, the steward announced to the crowd as she took her seat, was up to the monarch, and Queen Gav had chosen a mêlée between anyone who chose to fight for her hand. It wasn’t an uncommon choice, and always sure to draw in a large pool of contenders.

There were nearly three dozen, Gav noticed. Some she recognized, some she didn’t, and one kept his helm on with all his other plate so that his face was hidden. His armor was dyed a deep red, like spring roses or blood. It was obviously well-made and fit his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame very well. Even if he didn’t win the tournament, she thought she’d still like to have him to bed one night.

The man who kept the lists read off the names of the contenders as they entered the enclosed fighting pit. Luke, lord of Nettlestone. John Smith. Michael Belmore of Strongsong. The stranger in red was last: Ryan Haywood. Gav couldn’t keep her eyes off him once the fight truly began. He was skilled, that was immediately obvious. The other men operated through brute strength and some half-remembered tricks from an old master-of-arms, but Ryan clearly favored strategy. He was quick and agile and the midday sun gleamed blindingly off his polished armor. His sword caught the light as well, like lightning in his hand. Time after time, lesser fighters fell before him.

In the end, it came down to two men: Ryan and an older knight called Ramsey. His armor was old, dull and scratched, but his sword was sharp and he’d clearly had the training to tell him how to use it. Hilts clashed, armor crackled, and the crowds shouted for their own favorites. Ramsey pushed on, Ryan defended, and then Ramsey feinted left and Ryan noticed… and suddenly, Ryan’s sword was at Ramsey’s throat and the man was forced to throw his sword to the ground in submission and disgust.

“You fight without honor!” he shouted before Ryan could even be declared the victor. “No true man would fight like that!”

Ryan slid his sword into his scabbard and pulled off his helm. “You’re not wrong,” he said, except the huge gasp from the crowd confirmed what Gav could be hardly sure she saw. That was no true man. That was no man at all, but a woman, a few years older than Gav. She had strong features, thick blonde hair that tumbled around her shoulders, damp with sweat, and, as Gav could see when the woman turned to her, huge blue eyes. “I apologize for the deception, Your Majesty,” she said in a smoky voice. Her mouth always seemed to be smirking. “It was the only way I could be sure I might present myself to you.”

The crowd, all at once, began booing and screaming their displeasure, calling Ryan– or whatever her name was– all manner of abominable things, calling her shapeshifter, demon, consort to the Devil. Gav thought no such thing; she’d always loved women as well as men, and Ryan was beautiful and strong.

When her guards had enforced order again, Gav stood to speak. “My people, I know you think this some trick. I know you are unhappy. I know you think I must choose a husband, and I admit that does seem to be the case–”

“Your Majesty, may I interrupt?” The woman who wasn’t Ryan was bold. Gav liked that. She nodded her permission. “Your steward said that a king or queen must choose a husband or wife. He did not specify that a queen must choose a husband, nor a king a wife.”

The crowd started shouting again, and the woman turned on them angrily, whipping her head around so fast that her blonde hair smacked her softly on the cheek. “You bunch of hypocritical bastards!” she shouted, hands clenched into fists. “You’ll let a woman birth you and raise you, you’ll fuck one, you’ll let one die in the birthing bed for your children, but you won’t let one fight beside you in battle? The weaker sex you call us when one kick between the legs sends you to the ground crying!”

“Are you to let your supposed consort speak to you in this way?” Ramsey called to Gav. “Do you hear the wench?”

“Are you a child of nine, Ramsey? No? Then do not sulk like one,” Gav said coolly, turning away from the man back to the woman who had fought so strongly for her. “Would you have me, my lady?”

“I am yours for all my life.”

“I suppose I should know your name then, eh?” She laughed, and the woman smiled. “I don’t suppose it truly is Ryan?”

“Reina, Your Majesty.”

“Reina,” Gav repeated. The name was sweet. “A kiss to seal the pact, then?” The kiss was sweeter. Reina was warm and tasted of salt. For a moment the crowd disappeared, and when they broke the kiss, Reina was beaming, and Gav was breathing heavy.

“Queen Reina. I like the sound of that.”


	5. Valar Dohaeris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous user who went by "16kc16" asked for some Rayvin, and so here it is! (I know I promised Team OG but this was really fun to write.) Next chapter will be the Geoffray that someone else requested. Please enjoy, and if there's anything you want to see, just comment and your wish is my command.

Gavin was wiping down the wooden bar when he heard the door open. He didn’t even have to look up to know who it was; every day at this time, an hour before he closed, the same man would come in, slim and dark-haired and quiet. He never spoke to anyone, didn’t even chat with Gavin. Just ordered a pint of ale and never took more than a sip of it before he left.

It was a frustrating thing. Gavin had asked around and found out that the man was called Ray, that he was one of the best knights in the country despite his youth. Under other circumstances it would have been an honor to have him in Gavin’s establishment, small and less popular as it was, but… Well, Gavin liked what he did. He liked this job, he liked bantering with the men who came in, he liked trading bawdy jokes and teaching the ribald songs of his country to the men of this one. He was a little offended that someone would come in and order something that he wouldn’t drink.

And besides, Ray would likely have all sorts of stories to tell, all the tournaments he’d fought in, all the maidens whose hearts he’d won… Aye, and maybe all the peasant girls he’d fucked, if that was the way of it. That was another one of the rumors surrounding the man, though told less often then the stories of his jousts, that perhaps he didn’t like women much. He’d never been seen with one. Some men were like that.

So it bothered him that Ray, potentially interesting, potentially friendly, potentially interested in someone like him, simply sat in the farthest corner from the bar and left money for the ale that he never drank.

He asked Ryan, a frequent patron and a shameless degenerate, about him that night.

“Ray Narvaez, eh? Oh, I know about him.”

“Anything interesting?” He leaned forward to listen closer. Ray was in the corner waiting for one of the barmaids to bring his usual and as much as Gavin had an odd feeling about him, he didn’t want him to hear them talking about him.

“Plenty, depending on what you consider to be interesting. “He’s the last surviving member of his family, unmarried, no bastards that anyone’s aware of. Extremely talented fighter, especially proficient with a spear, but only in tournaments. Outside of them he’s never so much as gotten into a bar brawl. Everyone says he’s very good-natured, quick to laugh, quick to make others laugh.”

Not as interesting as he’d hoped, but not bad. By all accounts Ray was a good man, and yet he’d never spoken a word to Gavin. Not a word. Gavin himself was a talkative man, outgoing. Was there something wrong with him that Ray didn’t want to speak to him? “Anything else?”

“Things you already know, I’m sure, but I know you want the confirmation.” Ryan’s smirk was all-knowing. “Can’t be sure, of course, but rumors do abound that young Ray back there far prefers the company of young men. He’s very discreet, so no one knows for certain. But those of us who, ah, know the trade, so to speak, can recognize the signs.” Another smile, this one in better humor. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Gavin nodded, but it wasn’t really. If anything it only disappointed him more. He knew that when it came to matters of the heart, certain preferences needed to be kept quiet, but among the frequent patrons at least, Gavin’s own preferences were no secret. “Thanks, Ryan. Say hello to Michael for me, will you?”

When Ryan left, it was just Gavin and Ray in the bar. Ray sat looking at the table, hands around the glass of ale. Gavin watched him for a minute, hands fidgeting with each other, and then finally the questions burned his throat like the fire-whiskey they made back home and he couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Alright, what is your problem?” he asked as he stormed over to throw himself in the chair across from Ray.

The other man jumped and some of the ale spilled. “W-what?”

“You’ve come in here every day for months now and you always order the same thing and then you never drink it. You never say anything to anyone. Everyone says you’re so very friendly, but you’ve never even tried to say a word to me! You never do anything! Why do you come here if not to talk or drink?”

“I– I don’t…” Ray swallowed hard and blushed. He had trouble meeting Gavin’s eyes. “I don’t actually… drink. Don’t care for the taste, never have.”

“Then why do you come in here?”

“It was the only excuse I had to– to see you.” He still couldn’t look at Gavin, and it was a shame because he had beautiful brown eyes, almond-shaped and shadowed by thick lashes. Gavin felt his earlier irritation melting away. “I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what to say and I was so worried about making a fool of myself…”

Gavin slid his hand across the table and took Ray’s, slim and callused. “Well,” he said with a smile, “that’s alright. We can start here. Hello, I’m Gavin.”

Ray smiled too. It wasn’t such a bad place to start.


	6. Walk of Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Geoffray for the anonymous user who posts as "Xanzs". Thanks so much for all the comments! Hope you enjoy. We've got some sweet Team Magnum Dong for next week (Geoff/Ryan. I just love that team name too much).

Ray didn’t expect to wake up to a piece of parchment shoved under his bedroom door, but there it was all the same, neatly folded with an ink note scrawled under the wax seal of King Geoff: _Thought you ought to know as soon as possible. Guess I can’t see you for a while. XX_

It wasn’t signed, but Ray recognized the familiar neat scrawl of Ryan. He shrugged, undid the seal, and read the thing aloud. It was an official proclamation. “It is the decree of King Geoff the First, etcetera etcetera, that all citizens shall forthwith cease exceedingly familiar contact with His Majesty’s royal consort, Ray Narvaez. Any such contact deemed inappropriate will be immediately answered with arrest… Oh, Geoff, what have you _done_?”

He thought a lot about it while he dressed all in black and white because he knew Geoff liked him in color. He’d been Geoff’s partner for over a year now, and though he loved it– loved Geoff– sometimes being in the public eye wasn’t such a blessing. Never had that been more obvious than now.

In fact, every time he reread the parchment he grew angrier and angrier, because who the hell was Geoff to decide who he spoke to? He was still seething when he threw open the door to the study where Geoff always did his work in the mornings.

Geoff smiled to see Ray, as he always did. “Morning, my love. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, I slept just wonderfully, thank you. It was waking up that was awful, because I woke up to a _proclamation that no one can talk to me anymore_.”

The king’s face turned stony in a blink. “I just think you’re becoming overly familiar with–”

“With _who_? With my friends? I’m five-and-twenty, Geoff, I’m young. I will have friends. I will see those friends sometimes, and we will laugh and drink and say things we shouldn’t, maybe. What are you worried about? That Gavin and I are giving you horns?”

“That Haywood lad–”

“Oh, I should have guessed, this is about Ryan! By God, Geoff! He’s skilled with a sword, he’s the only one who’s good enough to train with me, so yes, we have become friendly. You catch him _once_ making star-eyes at me and you’ve just decided that we’re all over each other in the training yard!”

Geoff stood up. He was a powerful man, sturdy and tall, and with his elegant mustache and blazing eyes he wasn’t a man to be easily cowed. “If you have nothing to hide, this should mean nothing to you. You are _mine_ , Ray. You swore that to me this past year.”

“And I have _kept that promise_! I have never _once_ betrayed you! Would you rather have me stay inside all day and speak to no one but you? And when you’re busy, must I go sit with the women and sew with them? Oh, no, but I fancy women too, can’t have that! Perhaps I’ll just spend all my time in the stables with the horses! Or do you think I’m going to fuck them too?”

Geoff ground his teeth. “You will not speak to your king that way. You will apologize or you will leave.”

Ray stood for a moment, fists clenched and shoulders squared. “Fine,” he said finally, voice tight. “I beg your leave, Your Majesty. May the day treat you well.” He spun on his heel and stormed out, taking care to slam the door behind him. On the long walk from the study back to his bedroom, he kept running into people, anyone from laundry maids to Jack, the keeper of the armory. Though they used to always have time for at least a smile, all kept their heads down and hurried past him. It was humiliating.

He spent the rest of the day in his bedroom alone, not even leaving for the midday and evening meals. His stomach was knotted too firmly to allow him to eat, and he didn’t want to spend each one alone and silent. Instead he picked up the book of history Geoff had left him a few weeks ago and began to read; he’d never been one to sit inside and study, preferring a sword in his hand to a book, but Geoff was so clever that Ray wanted to be able to match him. He tried to ignore that reminder now, telling himself he just needed to pass the time.

After a long while, when the sun had set and the words were starting to float off the page, there was a knock at the door. Ray didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter, the door opened anywhere and there was Geoff stepping in and closing the door behind him. He wore plain clothes and no ornamentation, no crown, no chains, no jewels. He hadn’t dressed like this since he was courting Ray, when he came to visit at night.

“I would like to say that I– That is, I think that I– I did not consider that– God, Ray, I fucked up.” The fire wasn’t there anymore, he just sounded tired. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I suppose I did, because I did it. But I wasn’t thinking right. That’s what you do to me.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me. Don’t you _dare_ blame me for this.”

“I didn’t mean to. May I sit down?”

“No. You did mean to. You want me to be unfaithful because then you’ll have a reason to be paranoid and angry. Well, I’m sorry I can’t give you that satisfaction. Everything was completely baseless. You make it so hard to love you sometimes.” It was quiet, but Geoff still looked as though he’d been hit.

“I know,” he said, and it sounded completely genuine. “I know, God, I know it. I know I don’t deserve you. Sometimes I look at you, and you’re so young, and you’re so beautiful, and you could do anything. You could have anyone in the world, and I’m… I’m used to people being here just because I’m king. It’s so hard to remember that you’re not here for power or wealth and that you love me, undeserving wretch though I am.” He held out a hand and Ray stood up and took it. “I’ve already sent the order to rescind the proclamation.  
Sometimes I think I don’t deserve all this power. I’m too impulsive. I should have trusted you.”

Ray nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Not yet.” But he let Geoff kiss him anyway.


	7. A Golden Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some sweet Ramwood here for you requested by NightxPine! And by sweet I mean I loved this pairing. It's not sweet. It will hurt you. I didn't even know I shipped Ramwood but would you look at that. Next time I got a prompt for the Mad King claiming the Lads as his, so look forward to that.

Two boys with wooden swords. “I am going to lead the most glorious empire the world has ever seen!” said the brunette. “I will lay waste to my enemies!” said the blonde. The swords clacked together amateurishly. “Our kingdoms will be allies," the elder of the two, the brunette, promised, and the round-cheeked blonde nodded solemnly.

“Little princes! Come to dinner,” called the queen, their foster mother. The boys dropped their wooden swords and ran. Dinner was more important than empires.

Not brothers then, but almost.

***

Two young men with crowns. “I am going to bed the most beautiful woman in the world,” said the elder, who was growing a mustache. “Well my wife will give me a dozen strong sons,” said the younger, because somewhere along the way dreams had become boasts. A maiden’s giggle echoed in the hall.

“Good day, my lord,” she said, dropping one eyelid in a smoldering wink in the younger’s direction. The elder clenched his fists.

Brothers make the finest rivals.

***

Two tired men with steel swords. They rode through their respective camps to meet. King Ryan of the Kingdom of the North favored grandeur even now, the fine red velvet of his cape draped over the back of his spirited white courser. King Geoff of the Westerlands wore no ornamentation but his crown and sat a black destrier as tired as he was.

“My men have begged that I sue for peace,” said Geoff, the elder.

“You must know me better than that,” said Ryan. He was still blonde, but the gold had faded to ash. He still smiled like diamonds, cold, hard, and brilliant. “You are insubordinate, impertinent–”

“Insubordinate? I am a king! I am subordinate to no man!”

“Do you think the more often you declare your kingship, the more respect you will command?” The fire had gone out of his voice, however, and he turned to the servants in his party. “Pitch a tent. The king and I must talk.”

They stood alone in the tent, sharing a flagon of wine. Geoff couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d been in a situation like this, at sixteen. He doubted this would have a similar outcome. “You look well,” he said finally, the words even bitterer than the wine.

“You look old,” Ryan said, but there was a touch of laughter in it all the same. He had aged a little better than Geoff had, his face smooth and unlined, his eyes still sparkling bright. “What is it that Father Charles used to tell us? Men of war age faster because the Devil is eager to condemn them for murder.”

“I’d forgotten that. Remember the way he used to say yes, sir?”

Ryan put his hand over his heart. “Yeth thir,” he mocked, and Geoff had to smile at least a little.

They went quiet for a minute, becoming more solemn. “If you had told me so long ago,” Geoff said softly, “that you would have a wife I had never met, I would never have believed it.”

“Stranger yet for me. You have a daughter of almost ten, I’m told, and I’ve never once looked upon her. I was meant to be godfather to your children, was I not?”

“That was so long ago. I’d forgotten that promise. We were so young…”

Ryan drained the last of his wine and looked down at the empty goblet with an uncharacteristic lack of a smirk. “Do you know,” he murmured, “I’m not sure that I remember anymore how this war began.”

Geoff sighed. “We were young, we were stupid and hotheaded… God, maybe we still are. Sometimes I think I’ve only gotten younger, and then my joints ache and I remember. Whoever said that age begets wisdom is wrong.”

“I do not doubt it. Many such tales are false. Wisdom comes from failure, and there are certainly young men who have learned more from their failure than old men ever will. And there are men in the middle of their lives who have learned too much of the wrong thing and not nearly enough of the right.” Ryan could be startlingly intelligent when he chose to let the bravado slip away. 

“I am tired of making a young man’s mistakes with an old man’s mind. I am tired of it all. I have not seen my wife since two winters past and I do not want to return to her a corpse. Will we have peace then?”

“I could win this war, you know. It would take some time because you have more men, but I was always the strategic one. Wars aren’t won by throwing as many men at the enemy as possible.”

“If you fight this war, Ryan, you will lose men, and you will lose time, and you will lose me. Will you risk that?”

“I have already risked losing you.” Geoff clenched his fist around the wine cup and turned to leave, until Ryan spoke again. “And I do not want to risk it again. I would have peace, prosperity, and the love of a brother again, if he would have me.”

They shook hands and Ryan chanced a kiss to Geoff’s cheek. Rivals make the best of friends.


	8. First of His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous user going by "cowardicehider" requested some Mad King Ryan claiming the Lads. I'll admit it's not exactly what the prompt said but I loved writing it all the same. Hope it still works! Next time we've got some more R&R Connection for ya.

Ray woke up splattered with bruises. There were a rope of them around his neck like fine jewels, a matched set on his hipbones, a crop on his inner thighs, and an assorted number of others. There was almost a kind of elegance to them and their blue-violet color, and that contrasted fairly well with the ugliness of the older marks, which were splotchy yellow. He touched a bruise under his ear, smiled, and turned away from the looking glass to get back in bed.

He wrapped his arms around his lover and slid a leg over his. Ryan was awake instantly and flipped them over so that Ray was on his back and he was the one on top. His eyes slipped like water down over Ray’s body, taking in all the marks from the night before, and darkened with arousal, they way they always did when he beheld the effects of his attentions. “You make it so hard to resist you,” he murmured against Ray’s mouth, “but I’m afraid I must leave you. It’s the Claiming today.”

Ryan, as king, had the right to claim any young unmarried people for his own service. Most were pretty young girls to be laundry maids and serving girls, but sometimes he claimed bedmates. Most of those were men. Today was the ceremony for two young men he’d claimed to accompany Ray. Ray thought that maybe he should have minded, but he didn’t. Ryan’s eyes and hands wandered but he always came back to Ray in the end. “That’s all right. I know you’ll be on fire for the thought of me all day.”

Ryan settled himself between Ray’s legs and kissed him hard, once, twice, three times. “Perhaps we have a little time…”

***

Ray didn’t attend the ceremony, but he waited in the king’s bedroom for the new men to arrive. He wasn’t surprised at the look of them; they were a little older than him (Ryan liked them a few years younger than himself) and handsome (Ryan liked them pretty). The one called Gavin was lithe and almost feminine, with thick sandy hair and huge green eyes. The other one, Michael, looked hard and angry, with narrowed brown eyes and reddish curls.

“Ray,” Ryan said in his low, husky voice, “I think you should work with Gavin tonight. Teach him all the ways in which we’d like to have him, teach him what I like. For that matter, teach him what you like, too. He’s all yours. I’ll have Michael here, even if it looks like he’d rather kill me than kiss me.”

Gavin was clearly one of those who had volunteered to be claimed rather than chosen, because he molded himself to Ray like pliable bread dough and kissed him desperately. “I see you won’t need much teaching,” Ray said under his breath and sat against the wall to watch Ryan and Michael. Gavin sat beside him.

Ryan seemed to be struggling with Michael, who was vicious and fighting every advance Ryan tried to make. Gavin gestured at the two of them. “He’s just putting on a show.”

“Michael? How do you think? You can’t tell that just from looking.”

“I know him. We’re… I’ll say old friends. He fights and acts up because he wants Ryan to take control of him.” Sure enough, that’s what happened, when Ryan picked Michael up and threw him bodily onto the bed, hands tearing at clothing and hips rolling like waves. Michael kept mumbling something that Ray couldn’t hear. “I’d bet you anything he’s saying ‘I won’t break’. It’s never hard enough for Michael.”

Ray stirred at that. He knew Ryan liked it hard and so did he, and thinking about Michael’s pretty pale skin dotted with more nips and bruises than freckles was enough to pull Gavin onto his lap and ask to see if that lovely soft mouth could do more than talk about Michael. (For the record, it absolutely could, as Gavin’s aching scalp could attest to from how hard Ray pulled his hair.)

When they had finished, Gavin by hand and Ray by Gavin, they sat back to catch their breath and watched Ryan and Michael. They complimented each other beautifully, the red in Michael’s hair picking up the candlelight while the rubies in Ryan’s crown did the same, Michael’s face and Ryan’s eyes burning, muscular chest to arched back, strong hands on narrow hips. Michael had his head ducked down so that they couldn’t see his face, but he was letting out sharp little gasps and whimpers, so he was clearly enjoying himself. Ryan was more direct, back straight, head high, moaning in a voice smooth and thick as honey.

Of course, because Ryan liked to take his time, Ray and Gavin had more time to become familiar with each other’s bodies and Ray taught Gavin a few little tricks that Ryan loved. Gavin learned that Ray was sensitive to attention on his hipbones. Ray learned that Gavin was sensitive everywhere and took every pleasure in coaxing noises out of him in that funny accent.

“Is it true that the king is mad?” Gavin asked when they’d finished again, damp with sweat and loose-limbed. They couldn’t see Ryan and Michael from where they were curled up on the floor but they could still hear them.

Ray shook his head. “A rumor, not true. He’s… eccentric, I’ll say. But he’s relatively level-headed and only enjoys causing pain if it’s in bed, and even then, only when his partner enjoys it, which I do and it sounds like Michael does.”

“I can’t imagine doing something like this for years. Does he visit your bedchamber or do you only come to his?”

“I don’t have my own bedchamber. I sleep here, with him.” Gavin’s stunned silence said that that must have been odd. Ray didn’t think it was, but then, he’d been with Ryan for years.

“He must love you if he lets you do that. You must love him as well, and you must be mad for it.”

Perhaps he was. If that was the case, though, madness felt divine.


	9. Mockingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very specific prompt here from the user kenjiiatosh for some R&R Connection. I hope I did it justice! Next time I'll have the Team OG that I promised so long ago because I'm out of submissions, so if you don't want to end this at ten chapters, hit me up with some prompts!

Every so often, King Ray hung up his fine cape, put down his golden crown, and donned the linen and roughspun of the peasants to walk among them. He used to worry about being recognized, but never did anymore; people saw what they wanted to, and no one expected the young king to trade his creamy silks for a drab wool cloak and unspectacular leather boots. He did this once a month or so for a few hours in the afternoon, mostly hanging around pubs and taverns just to see what life was like out of the castle.

Mostly he found it agreeable; the men were rough but friendly, the women bold and shared even more bawdy jokes than the men did. They all teased him for his youth and for being ‘pretty as a girl’. That made him blush, which only made them laugh harder. Still, he was laughing with them.

On this occasion, a day in cool autumn where the trees were shedding leaves with every breeze, he decided to take a different route to one of his favorite haunts, which took him right past the most beautiful armory he’d ever seen.

Well, in truth, the armorer’s itself was nothing special, just a plain building, but some of the things on display… swords with intricately carved hilts, helms like animal heads and polished to a high sheen, greaves and gauntlets dyed richer colors than he’d known was possible… “Hello?” he called into the shop, and the man who was presumably the armorer stepped out of a back room, wiping his hands.

“Good morning, m’lord. Can I help you?” Oh God. Ray’s breath caught in his throat because this may have been the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was tall and powerful, with strong arms corded with muscle and broad shoulders. His ashy blonde hair was soaked with sweat. He would have looked intimidating but for his kind smile and his sparkling blue eyes.

Ray cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t staring too long. “Ah, did you make all of this yourself?” He gestured to the swords and armor.

“Aye, I did. Ryan Haywood, if it please you.” He shook Ray’s hand. “Were you lookin’ to buy anything?”

“Oh, ah, not at the moment.” He promised himself that when he went back to the life of King Ray he would absolutely be back. “It’s just all so beautiful I couldn’t help but stop and compliment you.”

“That’s very kind of m’lord to say. I’ve been doin’ this for about… twenty years, maybe? Fifteen? Somethin’ like that. Used to have an apprentice, but he had the gall to go and get married, so it’s just me here ‘til I can find another.”

“Well, if I see any apprentice armorers looking for a new master, I’ll send them your way.”

“Much appreciated.” Ryan’s smile got wider, and Ray couldn’t help but mimic it.

“Say, I was just on my way down to The City for a pint… Do you want to come with me?”

“Well, I need to stay with the shop…” Ray nodded, throat tight, disappointment blossoming like some hideous flower in his stomach. “But I was plannin’ on closing up in about a half hour, I can come down then if that’d work.”

Ray promised it would be fine and meant it.

After that, he came into the city as a peasant about once a week and always went to see Ryan. They became fast and firm friends, with Ray appreciating Ryan’s deep belly laughs and quiet intelligence and Ryan liking Ray’s dry humor and quick-wittedness. One night at The City, a few months after their meeting, the bar was busier than usual, with people coming in angry and loud and leaving quickly.

“What’s all this about?” Ray asked Ryan.

“Ah, people are upset that the whore’s tax has been raised to two pennies.”

Ray furrowed his brow. “Whore’s tax?” He hadn’t put a tax on brothels.

“I keep forgetting you don’t live in the capitol.” That was the story Ray made up to explain why he wasn’t around much. “Well, starting a few months ago there was a tax put on brothels, anyone who goes into one paid a penny. Yesterday it was raised to two. Surprised you haven’t seen the guards collecting the payment. Every week they bring it up to the captain of the guard and he brings it to the king.”

Ray clenched his fists. “He doesn’t bring it to the king. The king hasn’t issued any such tax and the captain of the guard is a liar and a thief.”

“And how do you know that?”

He trusted Ryan. He liked Ryan. He believed that he could tell him. “Because… well, I am the king.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry for lying. I just come out in disguise sometimes to get away from it all. Please keep it to yourself.”

Ryan looked him over thoughtfully. “Alright,” he said finally. “I believe you. And I’ll keep quiet, for a price.”

It’s always money, isn’t it? “What’s the price?”

“One kiss.”

Ray laughed. Never was a price more easily or willingly paid.


	10. The North Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY here's the Team OG I promised so long ago. Next time we've got some lovely parental Gavin/Geoff. Enjoy!

A Thursday night. Not a busy one for most pubs, but somewhere on any given night, Thursday or not, there would inevitably be two men who drank and drank and never seemed like they could drink enough. On this night there was only one in the bar known to the locals as The City, just shy of forty, with a thick mustache and sad eyes.

He didn’t even have to ask for another drink anymore, just tipped his chin up at the bartender. Hell, sometimes he figured that his business was keeping the place afloat. It wasn’t struggling, per se, but he’d spent enough coin her that he could have bought the place if he’d been so inclined.

He was deep into his fourth horn of ale when he was finally joined by his companion, bearded and tired-looking. “Evening, Geoff,” he said, taking a seat beside the other.

“Jack? I thought you were with that girl tonight. What’s her name.”

He didn’t bother to remind him. It didn’t matter anymore and Geoff would just forget again. “She… Well, she broke things off. She doesn’t want to see me again. Said she’s too young to get caught up in my past.”

“Oh, hell, Jack. That’s terrible. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I suppose.” He asked the bartender for something strong and swept his cloak off his shoulders. “It isn’t the first time. Women our age are already married and women younger don’t want to deal with… Well, everything that we have going on, you know?”

“I know.”

“And it’s just ridiculous. That young king we’ve got, he’s all well and good but where’s the help for people like us. We fought for this country in all these campaigns and we almost died, we’d have died if we had to, but we didn’t and now we’re stuck here with no land, no money, and no one but each other.”

Geoff put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He was over half a decade older and what felt like ten times more tired. He’d long since abandoned anger in favor of apathy. He drank because it reminded him of being younger and bright-eyed, holding up a pint to king and country, and then he remembered that everyone he’d toasted with in those days had died in the war, and then he drank even more to forget.

Jack hadn’t gotten there yet. Jack still hoped, Jack still courted young ladies and tried to save up money to buy a little house out of the capitol and thought that maybe, if he could come to terms with everything that happened in the war, he wouldn’t wake up with nightmares that burned him deep in the heart.

“Ah, there are worse people to be stuck with than me, eh?” Geoff said, a lightness in his voice that he hoped didn’t sound too strained. He used to have people recognize him by his laugh alone, because he laughed loudly and often and it was a distinctive sound. Now it was hard to even smile. Laughter was a distant memory. “You could be down in Hell with the rest of those bastards. That’d be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Would it?” Jack said softly, and Geoff didn’t know how to answer. He’d thought the same things, sometimes. Hell was torture but it was torture for all the pain he’d caused and all the vices he’d partaken in. There was a fairness to it. When people said that war was Hell, they didn’t know what they were saying.

There wasn’t a fairness here. There was loneliness that gripped you like an icy chill until all you could was curl up on yourself in an attempt to keep warm. There was memory like a double-edged blade that made all the good times seem soft and sweet and made the war hurt more, sharp and hot, too hot, like fresh blood. There was coin for the ale and never for the wood for the fireplace, not even now with winter coming and his old cloak threadbare and worn. There was nothing, there was no one. No one left but Jack. He was right. Sometimes maybe death would have been preferable.

“I just wish that one of them might understand,” Jack said after a moment. “One of the women. Hell, even some of these younger men. I don’t think our young king knows what war is like. It’s been, what, ten years? He was a child when it ended and a pup when it began. But no one understands. No one knows what it’s like.”

“I understand,” Geoff said, and he hadn’t mean to say it like that, like a young girl gazing shyly up at the boy she fancied, but his voice betrayed him anyway.

Jack looked at him, blue eyes warm. Geoff wanted to thank him for being hopeful, because without that, without him trying and saying it would all be better someday, he wasn’t sure he could even make it this far. “I know,” he said, and his voice was a little funny too. “I know, and I thank God for it every day. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Geoff. Sometimes I think you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”

“We could get out of this city,” he said, and it came out in a tumble because he hadn’t meant to say it, it was just an idea that came to him sometimes when the sun was warm and the drink made him warmer. “Just you and me, we could go anywhere, get out of this stinking city and go somewhere warm where it didn’t have to be so horribly familiar all the time.”

Jack’s throat felt stuck and Geoff immediately regretted speaking. “Everyone wants to go somewhere warm when winter’s on its way,” Jack said and Geoff nodded. “And besides, I only just stopped courting…”

Geoff took his hand away from Jack’s shoulder. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Forget it.”

“Wait. If… if winter ends and spring comes back and you still want to get away… Well, I’d like that.” He smiled, and Geoff remembered why he stuck around. Jack was worth all the rest of it.


	11. The Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My old friend "xanzs" is back with a parental Geoff/Gavin prompt, so here we are! Next time will be my favorite, R&R Connection. Enjoy!

Just once, King Geoff would like to wake up to something other than a bill for damages caused by his adopted son. Just once, he wanted to hear something other than the low mumbled apologies of a wincing hangover. Just once he wanted things to be simple. Just once he wanted Gavin to think before he got too drunk. Just once.

On this particular occasion, he was venting his frustration on the poor girl who’d just come to bring him something to break his fast. “He doesn’t think, he’s impulsive and rash and doesn’t know his own limits. He collects friends the way meat collects flies and all of them are as bad as he is. That Jones lad, he’s trouble, he’s loud and quick to anger. And I don’t trust anyone called Haywood. Whether or not it’s the same one who caused all that trouble a few years ago– you know what I mean, I’m sure– that family is all the same. Absolutely mad, they are.

“And that Ray! Oh, you think you’re safe because he doesn’t drink, at least, those are the rumors, but no, he’s probably the worst of the bunch, always looking for trouble. He has that look in his eyes. I don’t trust him.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at the mark the crown had left when it dug into his forehead. “Kingship isn’t an easy task at the best of times, but Gavin is… He’s a good boy, I know he is, and if he would just think he’d have no trouble, but he has no common sense at all. Maybe I’m being too harsh on him. What do you think? What would you do in my place?”

“I don’t rightly know, Your Majesty,” the serving girl said, her eyes respectfully lowered and her face red. “I don’t have any children. I’m only fifteen.”

Geoff looked over at her for the first time. He didn’t always realize that there was an actual person on the other end of his frustrations. She looked terrified of saying the wrong thing, just a little slip of a girl too, brown-haired and slight. “No, of course you don’t,” he said slowly. “Return to your duties.” Perhaps his voice had a touch of sharpness to it that didn’t need to be there, but it sent her off scurrying back to the kitchens to get her work done.

He opened the door and bellowed for his steward, who did come running as soon as his king called. “Jack, I need you to arrange another payment to Gus. Gavin broke another part of his fence last night. At this point we might as well replace the whole fence, it would probably be easier in the long run.”

“I expect you’ll want to see Gavin again this morning, Your Majesty?”

“Don’t tell me what I’ll want,” Geoff snapped. “Just arrange the payments. We’re lucky Gavin didn’t burn anything down this time.” He shuffled around a few of his papers, starting planning out things he needed to get done for the day, and just as Jack was leaving, he stopped him. “Send me Gavin, wherever you found him.”

Maybe most men would have been insulted by the king’s irritable nature and immense changeability, but not Jack. Jack knew better. He’d known the king for years and knew he never meant it, so he hid a smile as he left.

Geoff could hardly concentrate on anything until Gavin came in without knocking, as he always did. As always, he squinted as though the bright light that came in through Geoff’s huge windows hurt his eyes (and in fact, Geoff always opened the curtains before Gavin came in just to punish him a little), but for once he had an expression of humility.

“Gavin,” Geoff began as he always did, “this must be the last time. I can’t keep paying off your mistakes and eventually you’re going to irritate someone I can’t pacify. I don’t have time for this! We’re on the brink of war with the Northern Kingdom, and if you even knew the slightest thing about running a kingdom you’d fall to your knees and thank me for everything I’m doing! You’re my heir, this will be your duty someday, you don’t respect what I’m working with.”

“You’re right.”

“No, listen. You’re not–” He stopped. “Wait a moment. What?”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I never have. I’ve never appreciated everything you’ve done to keep me out of trouble and I’ve never appreciated all the lessons you’ve tried to impart on me about how to be a good king.” He looked down, suddenly shy, or maybe the light was just hurting his eyes.

Geoff softened almost immediately. Try as he might to be angry with Gavin, it was only contrariness and a need to push back. When Gavin bothered to apologize, and in the end he usually did, Geoff always gave in. He put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and then pulled him into an embrace, and Gavin didn’t even pretend that it embarrassed him, just wrapped his arms around Geoff and rested his head on Geoff’s shoulder. “Something happened last night, didn’t it?” he guessed. While it was a possibility Gavin had suddenly come to his senses it was more likely something had just gone wrong.

Gavin laughed a little. “When the fence broke, Michael got injured, arm got cut up pretty badly. I… don’t want to be out drinking and making mistakes if it gets people hurt. I’d never really thought that would happen.”

“Hm. Thought it might be something like that.”

“But I do mean it. Thank you for everything.”

Geoff had to smile. He never could stay mad at Gavin for long.


	12. The Wolf and the Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some R&R Connection from a prompt by (appropriately) an anonymous user going by "Raywood". Next time we got some Team Same Voice (yay, Jack!).

Kingship was sweet, but breaks were sweeter, Ryan mused. Every once in a while he gave himself leave to take an afternoon off from his duties and go for a ride. Sometimes it was just around the city, visiting pubs and calling on a few old friends, but sometimes it was out of the capitol entirely, through the lush fields by the river. It was best now, in early summer, when winter had faded completely but it wasn’t yet too hot for his horse to run far.

The country was beautiful once you got out of the grime and noise of the city. He could dress simply, in plain trousers and a linen shirt, with no heavy cape or cold metal crown, and sometimes he could bathe in the cool waters of the river. It was a welcome respite and a necessary one.

On this particular occasion, it was the loveliest day in a month, the sky blue and cloudless, the hills green and rolling, the river clear and gentle. The horse beneath him, a young chestnut mare he called Catherine, was spirited and as eager to be in the sun as he was. They rode down the length of the river, moving as one, Ryan’s laughter slipping behind him like silk in the wind. When Catherine was tiring, she slowed to a walk, and Ryan dismounted to lead her to a crop of trees a few meters down. As they grew closer, he saw with some surprise that they weren’t alone; a young man slept under a willow, black hair falling in his eyes.

“Oh!” Ryan said, jumping back a little, and with some flailing of limbs the man awoke. “Oh, I’m sorry to have startled you.”

“No, ah, it’s alright,” the man said, standing up and brushing the dirt from his trousers. “I’m Ray, by the way. Pleased to meet you.”

It was so rare that Ryan had to introduce himself. It made quite the welcome change, actually. “Ryan,” he said as he shook Ray’s hand. “Pleased to meet you as well.”

“So what brings you out this way? Don’t usually see many people down by this part of the river.”

“You chose a good place for a rest, then,” he said with a smile. “Just wanted to get out of the city, spend some time in the sun. The horse did the rest.” He patted Catherine’s neck.

“Fair enough. I’ll admit, I’m avoiding work, and this isn’t a bad place to fall asleep. I keep hoping one of the girls across the way will come down and bathe, but so far it hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe it has, and I’ve been asleep.” When he grinned, his eyes shone like onyx. “Sit with me for a while. It’s beautiful but a bit lonely out here.”

Ryan tethered Catherine to one of the trees, close enough to the river that she could drink if she liked, and sat beside Ray. “So what sort of work is it that you’re avoiding?”

“My father is a shoemaker. That would be fine, except that I’m always the one tanning the leather, and it’s tedious and smells horrible. He doesn’t need me to do the work but he often asks it of me, and so I’m out here before he awakes and asks.”

Ryan nodded. “Makes sense, I’d say. I imagine most people would lecture you on respecting your father and a good day’s hard labor or something like that, but I know what it is to avoid a day’s work.”

“Oh? What is it that you do?”

Should he tell him? Well, why not? “Would you believe that I’m the king?”

“Not really,” Ray laughed. “Where’s your crown?”

“Left it at home. Better to mingle with the plebs.”

“Like me?” Another laugh. Ryan spent most of his time with humorless council members; it was nice to find someone who knew how to smile.

“Like you.”

“If you’re truly the king, say something… kingly.”

“Er, aggressive international negotiations.”

“That’s convinced me. Thank you for gracing me with your presence, Your Majesty.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“It’s your title, isn’t it? Or have I got that wrong?” He looked genuinely concerned that he’d gotten it wrong.

Ryan groaned. “I came out here so that I didn’t have to be king, just for an afternoon. I see that may have been too much to ask. Please just… speak to me the way you would anyone else.”

“Oh, I don’t know if you’d like that.”

Ryan looked over at Ray, wind ruffling his hair and mouth curved into a soft smile. “And why is that?”

“Because if you weren’t my king, if you were just a man who happened by, I’d ask if it were alright if I kissed you.”

That wasn’t even close to what Ryan had expected he’d say, and he said so. “I expected a few bawdy jokes, perhaps.”

“I’ve got those too, but they don’t seem quite right in the middle of the afternoon. So what do you say? Is it alright?”

“Is it…” Ryan had to laugh because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m going to tentatively say no, not right now. I’ve only just met you, after all. Thinking you handsome isn’t quite enough for me at the moment.”

“Ah, so you think me handsome?”

Ryan cursed under his breath. “I didn’t mean to say–”

“I understand. I think you handsome as well. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. But alright, if you want to know more about me first, that’s not a problem. So. What would you like to know?”

They spoke all afternoon and into the evening, and when the sun began to set Ryan regrettably said his farewells and explained that he would be able to return in a month or so, if Ray cared to wait.

When the month passed, Ryan kept his word, and used his next afternoon outing to return to the place where he’d met Ray. Sure enough, the young man was sat under the tree asleep, thick black hair falling into his eyes until Ryan’s laugh woke him. It was the best kiss Ryan had ever had.


	13. Fire and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna say this chapter is painful, but in the words of Brandon, "Well... ENJOY DEATH!" Some painful Team Same Voice requested by Shinju_Tori. Next time's the Lads as little ones.

They’d played together as children. That was the thing Jack always tried to remind himself of, when the night was black and the stars were out and every breath tasted of metal and fear. They’d played together as children. Something in him thought that comforting, as if Ryan couldn’t hurt him because they’d been young together. Usually he knew better, but sometimes false hope was better than no hope at all.

Everything had been just fine when they were young. They were of an age, Ryan precocious and blonde, Jack shy and red-haired. By all rights they should never have crossed paths, the blacksmith’s boy and the prince, but there weren’t all that many children in the castle and the prince needed a playmate. And so there was Jack.

They fell into more similar interests as they grew up; they both developed a fine appreciation for horseflesh, they began to court the same types of girls, and, though it took them some time to admit, they especially began to display interest in each other. Ryan had always loved Jack’s kindness, and Jack had always been drawn to Ryan’s confidence and fearlessness.

They had to hide their experimentations, but that was fine by Jack, who didn’t like other people knowing what he was doing anyway. He’d admit, some of it was selfishness; he didn’t want anyone else to imagine Ryan with his eyes squeezed tight in ecstasy, letting out deep animal moans behind gritted teeth, hands grasping at anything in reach. He especially didn’t want anyone imagining how weak he was for Ryan’s teasing ministrations, or how just one of Ryan’s curving, smirking smiles was enough to make him flushed. Of course, at that age, near anything could make him blush.

As they grew into manhood, experimentation became routine and nearly every night they would find their way into each other’s beds. It wasn’t always sexual, and in a moment of deep affection that would only be rarer with every passing year, Ryan confessed that he didn’t remember how to fall asleep without Jack at his side. They’d still been so close then…

When Ryan was entering his third decade of life, his father the king died suddenly, and all of a sudden the little prince was a king and his soft blonde hair was hidden by a heavy gold crown and he didn’t have time for Jack anymore. It wasn’t a conscious thing, Jack was sure, but he was busy all the time. “I want to make a good king,” he said, and Jack would nod. “My father was a good man but not a very good king. I want to be better than that.” And so Jack understood.

Four years later the first man was executed for treason. Jack was horrified when he heard. “He was almost a boy!”

“He was man enough to plot against me.”

“Plot against you? A few ill-spoken jests while in his cups, that’s plotting now?”

“That’s how it begins, Jack. It begins with jests and ends with a dead king.”

Ryan wouldn’t see reason, so Jack used the last thing he had left to him. “Your father would never have done this.”

It worked. Ryan looked as though he’d been slapped and Jack felt absurdly guilty. “Ryan, I–”

“No,” he said in a short, clipped voice. “You’re right.” There were no more executions, at least for a few months.

Jack tried again, appealing to Ryan’s better nature, to the boy he’d known for so long. This time it didn’t work. The father trick didn’t work twice and nothing else would sway Ryan. After all, Jack imagined he reasoned, he’d stopped the executions and treason still arose. No reason to stop again.

If that was the all of it, Jack might have been able to manage. After all, Ryan wasn’t butchering half the country, and if the deaths of a few smallfolk helped him sleep better at night, could Jack have it in him to stop him? (The answer, he’d realize later, was an emphatic yes, but at the time he thought he was being kind).

But of course it wasn’t. Ten years after he took the throne, he took a wife, a pretty little thing, and got a child on her fairly immediately. Good news, Jack thought, as a king needed an heir and his friend needed companionship and perhaps his wife could talk more sense into him than Jack could. But as pleased as Ryan was at the thought of having a son, he grew quickly frustrated when he couldn’t take his pleasures with his wife anymore, and so turned to Jack.

It had been years since they’d been together, but Jack was willing to try again. He as yet was unmarried and he missed the intimacy he and Ryan used to share. When the kisses started, he felt it all come back to him, all the ways to move and moan that would drive Ryan wild, all the sensitive places on Ryan’s body. And as abruptly as it came back, it disappeared, when Ryan’s kisses turned harder and colder and his hands were rough and he didn’t go slow. Jack never told him to stop, because perhaps it was just the frustration, but when Ryan had finished he pulled away from Jack and left without so much as a goodbye. Jack hadn’t finished. He didn’t think he cared to, now.

The executions were coming every other week now, and in ever more brutal ways. It wasn’t always treason now. Jack’s stomach roiled when a guard told him that the young woman hanging in the public gallows had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her family.

“Ryan,” he said softly to the king that evening at supper. They were two-and-thirty now. “I’m afraid I’m losing you.”

There were so many answers he could have gotten. A simple “no, you aren’t” would have sufficed, or a “I’m trying my best” or even “I’m sorry”. The last thing Jack expected or wanted to hear was “why, Jack, what makes you think you ever had me?”

Of all of the things that had happened since he stopped being Young King Ryan and started being Mad King Ryan, Jack thought that might be the worst.


	14. The Watchers on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some young Team Lads requested by an anonymous user going by, fittingly enough, "Anon". This was cute and fun to write, especially after the angst of last chapter. Next time's some Michael/Geoff. Enjoy!

“Let’s play! I’m gonna be the king, and–”

“But Michael, you’re always the king!”

“That’s ‘cause I’m the best king, Gavin!”

“But Michael, I thought I was the best king…”

“No, Ray! Gavin, if you want to be in charge so much, you can be my queen, since you’re being such a girl anyway!”

The three boys turned their backs on each other. They were hardly eight, though Michael was nearly nine and never failed to use it to exert his superiority over his friends. He looked younger than he was, though, with his chubby cheeks and reddish curls that he wouldn’t let his mother cut. Gavin looked older with a mop of sandy hair and huge green eyes, and Ray was the youngest, with dark eyes and a sweet smile.

Fights like these weren’t uncommon. Michael was bossy and while Ray often simply went along with it, Gavin sometimes protested, and then Michael would get irritated and Ray would get caught in the crossfire and they’d all be angry with each other again.

It was a shame, truly. In their little village they were the only boys of an age with each other (and they couldn’t play with girls, of course, until a few years later when they’d want nothing more), and they couldn’t have been more different. Ray was content to play on his own unless Michael roped him in, Gavin, having only moved to the village just a year ago from abroad, was in turns shy and outspoken, and Michael, of course, was all the fire and fight of a seasoned war horse packed into a small, brown-eyed boy.

After Michael, who was highborn, had his lessons in the mornings, he rounded up Gavin and Ray and brought them ‘round to his home so that they could play until Ray’s hunger and Gavin’s mother called them back. Usually they enjoyed themselves, playing come-into-my-castle or lords and knights or something similar (Gavin in particular had a talent for building with anything he could find), until moments like this.

So that they wouldn’t be unsupervised, Michael’s mother took on a young woman from the village as a serving girl to make sure the boys weren’t getting into trouble. Her name was Lindsay, sixteen, red-haired and patient, and here she interrupted their play when she saw that none of them were speaking.

“What’s the matter, boys?” she asked, crouching down to be of a height with them. “Tell me one at a time. Michael?”

“They don’t wanna let me be king!”

“Alright. Gavin, what do you think is the matter?”

His lip quivered. “Michael never lets me be king. He said I was a girl!”

“Oh. Ray?”

He looked down and kicked at a clump of grass. “Michael said I wasn’t the best king,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to tell on Michael and didn’t want to show how much the comment had hurt his feelings. He was eight. He was almost a man grown. He shouldn’t be sad.

“Alright. Gavin, my sweet, you’re not a girl. And you’ll be king soon, don’t worry about.” She ruffled his hair. She couldn’t resist. “Ray, dear, of course you’re the best king. The very best.” She wanted to muss his hair as well, but she knew it would just embarrass him.

She turned to Michael then, whose mouth was set in a petulant pout. “Michael. You should be nicer to Gavin and Ray. They’re your friends. It’s good of them to come over every day and keep you company, and they’re guests here. Let them be kings if they want to be. It won’t hurt you. Don’t call Gavin a girl again either, alright? That’s not an insult. I’m a girl, would you be rude to me?”

“No,” Michael said quietly. He had developed a fond affection for Lindsay, who was always kind with him and never got frustrated when he was in one of his moods or had trouble finding the rights words he wanted to use. He thought he might marry her when he was older. He would never be mean to Lindsay.

“I thought not. You should apologize to Gav and Ray and then you’ll all be friends again. Yes?”

“Sorry, Gavin and Ray.” It sounded a little forced but mostly genuine. The trick with Michael was that he rarely meant to be rude, but got easily frustrated and never knew when to stop talking and could never find the right words. “We can play again. You can be king if you’d like, Gavin.”

Gavin’s smile brightened. “Alright!”

Lindsay laughed and pushed some hair out of Ray’s eyes, embarrassed or not. “That’s what I like to hear. You’re a team again! You have to support each other. You’re my lads, aren’t you?”

They nodded and then raced off to keep playing, Ray’s laughter echoing in the wind. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and smiled. Her lads were a handful but always worth it.


	15. Oathkeeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was requested by my very lovely boyfriend! Next time we have some Geoff/Griffon (how did I forget that for so long?), and then I have no more requests. I'm only taking this thing to about 20 chapters, so I'll take the next four prompts sent to me. Enjoy!

As he did every morning when he awoke, Michael went out to the training yard to practice his swordsmanship. He was used to it being deserted (ever since he’d begun archery practice, people learned to steer clear) so he was very surprised to see a man standing in the yard. He was older, maybe as old as his father, with a thick brown mustache and scarred hands. “Tomorrow you’ll be here at dawn,” he said by way of greeting.

“Who are you?”

“Ser Geoff Ramsey. Your father is paying me to train you to be a knight.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. Ever since he was little, the only thing he’d wanted to be was a knight, and finally, at age eleven, he had his chance. He knew it was a bit late to start training– he could have begun squiring as early as three years ago– but his father was perpetually late and this had been no exception. Geoff held a wooden training sword and tossed it to Michael, who fumbled to catch it but held it up proudly in both hands.

“Tomorrow you’ll catch it with one. Now, hold it–”

“Wait, I’m training with this? It’s wood!”

“It’s a training sword, and you’re training to be a knight. Or have I gotten that wrong?”

“Knights don’t use wooden swords!”

“And you’re not a knight. Now. Stance.” He made Michael practice the way he stood and held the sword for the better part of the morning, until Michael was aching and frustrated. “Tomorrow–”

“Tomorrow? We’re done? I didn’t even get to swing the sword!”

“Nor will you, until you learn the proper way to stand. You hold that sword wrong, it gets knocked out of your hand the first time it meets another blade. A sword is only as good as the arm that wields it.”

Michael gritted his teeth and returned the next morning, and the one after that, and the one after that. Finally it had been a week of training and still Michael had done little more than a few defensive stances, and he’d had enough. “Why are you wasting my time with this? Why am I learning exactly where to put my fingers on the hilt instead of how to attack? This isn’t teaching me anything, all you’re doing is saying I’m doing it wrong, I want to learn how to fight!”

Geoff looked at him with level, sleepy eyes. “You’re a green boy. You won’t know how to work that sword properly for years, little lord. You hold the sword right so it isn’t knocked out of your hands. You learn to defend because you’re small, and it’s a good way to wear out a larger opponent. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen happen to boys who think they can fight when they can’t.”

“Well, I want to know! I’m good, I can do it! I’ll fight you right now and show you what I can do!”

Geoff raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” he said, and picked up another wooden sword. Michael set himself up and then Geoff moved, faster than he would have believed from someone so old, the sword as much a part of his arm as anything else. It was almost a dance, really, beautiful and deadly, and it was only seconds until Michael’s sword was clattering to the ground.

The famous Jones temper came out. “I want you gone!” he bellowed, fists clenched tight. “I can do that! My father’s the lord here, I can have you sacked! Leave! I don’t need you!”

“Alright,” was all that Geoff said, and he turned to leave. Michael was left breathing heavy, face burning with anger and embarrassment.

Over the next few months, Michael had a string of teachers come and go. None were as well-known or as renowned as Geoff, but his father thought them good enough. They were everything Geoff wasn’t: they were tractable, patient, they taught him what he wanted to learn and told him what he wanted to hear. Some were young, some were old, all praised him for his talent and his innate swordsmanship and made Michael glow with pride.

Until, that was, his head swelled to the point he challenged one of the other squires in the village to a fight. Many of the other young people came to watch, Michael was ready and excited… and was thoroughly thrashed. It was embarrassing. The other boy, though just his age, was stronger, swifter, and far more learned, and while he’d win no melees, he certainly destroyed Michael and forced him to consider that though he’d enjoyed his last few months of training, he hadn’t actually learned all that much.

And so it was with a deeply heavy heart that he mumbled his request to his father. The night before, he slept poorly, tossing and turning. When he finally awoke, after no more than a few hours of sleep, the sun was streaming through his windows and he dressed in the clothes he usually wore for training, clothes he didn’t mind getting dirty and that were loose enough to move comfortably.

When he entered the training yard, it was deserted but for one figure, an older man in practical dark green and grey. He turned to look at Michael when he showed up clutching his wooden sword and wearing an expression of humility.

“Tomorrow you’ll be here at dawn,” Geoff said, and Michael had to smile.


	16. And Now His Watch Is Ended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely Geoff/Griffon as requested by the user TaliaAlGhul. Next time's some Ray/Ryan/Gavin, which I am informed is "Team The Best... Around".

The first way Geoff tried to get the queen to notice him was at a tourney. He was a tourney knight, he’d always been a tourney night, those were where his skills lay. He tried to make an impression, too; he polished his armor ‘til it shone, practiced for weeks before, even chose a good, strong horse, a handsome white charger.

He did well, too. He always did well. He didn’t win, but he become one of the top four, after knocking the young lord Michael into the dust. Michael was one of the up-and-coming best knights in the kingdom, so the cheers were deafening. That alone should have been enough for her to at least look at him, but she didn’t. She sat alone in the Queen’s Box in the stands, classically elegant in soft blue, pale blonde hair shining in the sunlight, and she never looked at him.

The second attempt was a petition he, as liege lord of his lands, was asked to put forth to the queen. Winter was on its way and his people worried that they wouldn’t have enough grain to see them through the cold months. “Your Majesty, I beg that we may have more wheat so that my people won’t starve before spring,” he said with a courtly bow. He’d practiced the words, making sure he didn’t slip up and curse at her or use otherwise improper language. He forgot his courtesies after a while, but he wanted to impress her.

She granted the request very graciously but gave him no more care than she did any of the other petitioners before him. In fact, she was far more interested in chatting with one of her guards, a young lad with green eyes and a wide smile. Her smile was wider, and Geoff gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as though he believed he had some sort of monopoly on the queen’s attention; he’d known men who were like that about women, and it always bothered him. Envy is not an emotion easily squashed, however, and Geoff had always been a bit of a show-off. He hated losing out on attention to this pup.

“I’ve no idea what I’m doing wrong,” he said to Jack later that night.

“Geoff, if I knew how to speak to beautiful women, rest assured I’d be married by now. As it is, I have you as a poor consolation.”

“Ah, fuck off.” He wasn’t wrong, though. God knows Geoff wasn’t the best at flirtatious advances– they required a sort of subtlety he’d never had the patience for– and this was, well, the queen. The queen of the whole realm.

He’d given up by the time there was the feast the following evening. Yes, it was in the castle, and yes, the queen was in attendance, but he was tired and not nearly as drunk as he wanted to be and a little frustrated. He sat with the soldiers on the floor, and as the night went on, he felt himself cheer up. The wine was sweet, the company was not, which was exactly the way he liked it.

He’d been told once long ago that it was possible to identify him by his laugh alone, and that you could hear it from nearly miles away. That was probably true, in that he laughed loudly and often (and louder and more often the more wine he drank), but he gave as good as he got and the stories he told had some of the other soldiers at the table roaring with laughter.

“An’ I couldn’t believe they didn’t notice I’d walked in, it was fuckin’ ridiculous. They were goin’ at it like rabbits, I stopped dead ‘cause, y’know, how the fuck do you not notice someone walkin’ in on you, I didn’t know what to do! Eventually I started coughin’, still nothing!”

“Geoff, Christ. How long did it take ‘til they noticed?”

“Could have been hours, but, y’know, they were in my bed so I had to say something. The kid practically pissed himself. Fuck, I didn’t stop laughin’ for days.”

He heard someone clear their throat behind him and turned to see the green-eyed guard from yesterday. “Will you come with me, m’lord?”

Geoff sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. What had he done this time? “Yeah, alright. See you ‘round, gentlemen,” he said to his companions, and followed the guard out of the hall into a room just to the left. The guard ushered him in but didn’t follow him, just closed the door behind him.

There was only one other person in the room, a beautiful blonde woman wearing a white gown. The candlelight made sparks flicker on her gold jewelry. “Your Majesty!” He dropped to one knee, but she shook her head.

“Stand. Geoff Ramsey?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He stood, and she shook her head again and took his hand in both of hers.

“Call me Griffon, if you will,” she said softly. Her eyes were shockingly blue and under the thin white gown she wore, he swore he could see a hint of the inked skin they favored abroad. Improper for a queen, perhaps, but he liked it.

“Griffon,” he breathed, and the sound was beautiful in his mouth.

“I could hear the story you were telling those men from the dais. I haven’t laughed so hard in years, and, well, maybe I’ve never laughed that hard. I had to find your name out immediately; I’ve never met a man with such a vulgar sense of humor.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He bit his tongue and cursed himself. “Fuck. No! God. Apologies.”

She laughed, a sound like bells and springtime and some other shit that the poets knew more about than he did. “I’d like to hear more of these stories of yours, Geoff. Would you care to tell them to me sometime?”

He’d tell her anything if it made her laugh again. Perhaps his usual coarse self wasn’t so bad after all.


	17. What Is Dead May Never Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Ray as Mad King as requested by an anonymous user going by molderfear. Next time will be some Jack/Gavin. I have all the prompts I choose to fill at the moment, so if yours came in after I hit 20, I'm sorry! Maybe I'll do a bonus chapter with a few sentences for each extra prompt (so send 'em in, I guess). Enjoy!

When people heard the words “Mad King”, they never pictured someone who looked like their current king. The words were fearsome, and inspired thoughts of a man tall and strong, with broad hands and eyes like fire. They still, to this day, had trouble associating the title with King Ray, so thin and small, bright-eyed and smiling.

And yet… The way King Ray avoided the moniker most of the time was supremely clever. He took care, of course, to present himself as outwardly unthreatening as possible, letting his hair fall in lazy waves to his shoulders and choosing a red rose as his sigil. He brought peace and prosperity to his realm. As a result, men called him feminine. What they never called him was mad.

Unless you were abroad.

Never had a king been so beloved by his own people and so feared by others. Just his name inspired fear in other realms. It was what parents used to scare their children into behaving: “King Ray is outside the gates.” So when he campaigned abroad and returned home with two new servants, his people looked the other away and their people wailed in fear.

He chose Gavin for big green eyes and his pretty voice. “You’ll sound so lovely,” he murmured to the frightened boy, “begging for me to have you harder. Or perhaps begging me to set you free. Don’t worry, lad, I won’t have you yet… I’ll wait. I’ll wait until you want it, and oh, love, you’re going to want it.”

Ryan wasn’t frightened in the least. His eyes burned fierce and every word was spat like the taste of it disgusted him. Ray couldn’t find the words that would break him, because he could work words as skillfully as any. He had a lovely voice too, deep and smooth, almost hypnotizing, but that wasn’t why Ray chose him. He chose him because he liked a challenge, especially from a man as handsomely masculine.

He kept Ryan in the dungeons, but Gavin in a lavishly furnished room. The boy was already afraid, a sudden sort of kindness would only unnerve him further. He made sure each of them had plenty to eat and were never cold, but he allowed Gavin the run of the library while Ryan was kept in chains.

Gavin fell first, as Ray knew he would. After two weeks of fine clothes and finer wine, and with no visits from the king, he was hale and healthy and even relatively happy. Ray had never bought the idea that anyone would start to confuse lack of cruelty for kindness, but he did think that if he was kind, Gavin would start to think that all those rumors he’d heard about the Mad King were false.

And so after those two weeks were up, Ray called on him. “Good evening,” he said, and Gavin jumped.

“Y-Your Majesty,” he said in a voice like a squeak. “I– I didn’t hear you enter.”

“I hope you are well. I trust you’ve been well looked after.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty. Thank you very much for your– your kindness.”

Ray smiled, and after a moment, Gavin smiled hesitantly back. “Words are wind,” he said simply. “Rumors are only that. I trust you know what to expect now.”

If Gavin remembered the first words Ray said to him, he gave no sign of it, merely nodded. The fun part was over, then. He was Ray’s.

Ryan proved to be far more of a challenge. Ray visited him after taking his leave from Gavin and found him reasonably well, though his clothes were torn and dirty and his hands were chained above his head. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice dripping with irritated sarcasm. “You seem quite well.”

“Very well, thank you,” Ray replied, an unkind smile flirting around his lips. “Handsome as ever, even under all that filth.”

“And with you smelling of roses, why, you’re almost pretty as girl. I haven’t had a girl in so very long, Your Majesty. Perhaps you’d like to come over here and wrap that soft little mouth around my cock, what do you say?”

What he’d say and what he’d think were two very different things in this instance. “I say that even after two weeks, you haven’t yet learned your place. I find that very distressing.”

Ryan flicked his eyes down lazily to Ray’s hips. “You do seem quite distressed, I’ll agree.”

Ray covered that up hastily. It would do no good to show weakness in front of his prisoner. “Your friend Gavin has already given in.”

Ryan laughed and slumped against the wall. “Friend, eh? I hardly know the boy. Haven’t seen him down here, though. Where’ve you got him?”

“Oh, he’s up in the castle with me. I’ve treated him well.”

“Well, no wonder then. No use in fattening up the turkey you don’t intend to kill.”

“You think I intend to kill Gavin?”

He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do with him. He’s your toy now, I’ve got no claim on him, nor do I desire one. I only know you don’t intend to truly harm me.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because I know your type. I know the game you play, I know it very well. You want me to break down so prettily for you, hm? As if I would ever deign to give you that satisfaction.”

Ray stepped closer to him, and then Ryan stepped even closer, pulled his chains taut against his wrists. “Game, is it?”

“Oh, yes. As if your title hasn’t spread far and wide. Mad King, they call you, when by rights the title should belong to me.” His eyes were blazing in the light from the torches.

“King?”

“Oh, no. Mad.” He closed the gap between them and nipped at Ray’s lower lip, and the hunger in his face was so gorgeous that it made the blood worth it. Perhaps conquest wasn’t the only challenge.


	18. Two Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Jack/Gavin as requested by user Isaac_Kran. Next time will be some Ryan/Lads! Enjoy!

Jack Pattillo had a bad record when it came to keeping apprentices. As one of the most talented blacksmiths in the capital, he was highly sought after by clients and simply couldn’t keep up with all the work by himself. Because of this, he was even more highly sought after by apprentice blacksmiths; it was well known that as gruff as he might be, as quick to see fault, he was a genius, and even the short amount of time most apprentices stayed was enough to see improvement. It was a mark of honor to have worked under him.

At least, that’s what Gavin Free told himself. He’d just been accepted to work under Jack, and although “you might have some potential in those skinny arms of yours” wasn’t an entirely auspicious start, it certainly could have been worse. He did his best to listen, to follow instructions, and he spent hours and hours in the heat of the forge, working the metal.

“Not like that,” was a common sound, either mumbled in irritation or bellowed, particularly when Gavin was close to making a dangerous mistake. “Don’t you know anything?”

“If I knew everything, I wouldn’t be an apprentice, would I?” he snapped back one day, and Jack was speechless for a moment before grumbling about impertinence and leaving him to his own devices. Later Gavin apologized, and Jack accepted it with a terse nod.

Occasionally Jack would be at the forge by himself, claiming he was doing important work and didn’t want to be interrupted by the likes of Gavin, so Gavin was sent out to the front to sell the armor and weapons. It wasn’t hard to find people who were interested, even if many were young knights who dreamed of having fine armor that they couldn’t as yet afford.

More and more frequently, much to Gavin’s surprise, young women would approach the shop when he was out front, and they’d ask him questions in shy giggling voices and blush when he smiled. Once Jack came out to ask him something and was furious to find him chatting with a small group of girls, and dragged him back into the heat of the forge with fire in his eyes.

“What are you doing flirting when you should be getting work done?”

“I wasn’t flirting! I was having a chat! They’re lovely girls–”

“What you do on your own time is not my business, but when you’re here, you stop paying more attention to women than to swords!”

“I’m not interested in women!” Gavin shouted, fists clenched tight, and Jack made a noise at the back of his throat but let him leave for the day. Gavin went off to the nearest tavern and ordered something strong. The bartender was an old friend of his.

“So what’s got you all miserable?” Michael said, and Gavin sighed.

“Jack, of course. As ever. Some girls were flirting with me, I suppose, I didn’t notice, and he was furious.”

“So tell him you like men.”

“I did, and he let me leave. I don’t know. I wish it wasn’t so difficult to talk to him, do you understand? He’s been kind of a few times, and he’s absolutely brilliant at what he does. I’d like to be friendlier with him, but he won’t let me.”

“He doesn’t let anyone, but this is the first I’ve heard about flirting.” Michael took a drag from his own goblet of wine.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, listen. I’m the closest tavern to his shop, yes? So it’s not uncommon for apprentices to come in complaining about Jack. I’ve heard all sorts of stories, but I also know that when Ryan was an apprentice, he’d stand outside and flirt with women all day long, and Jack never said a word about it. He must like you quite a bit if he’s concerned that you’re interested in women. Or, you know, he can’t think of anything else to criticize, but I know you and that’s probably not the case.”

Gavin stuck his tongue out at Michael, who laughed. “You might be right. But what do I do if you are?”

“What the hell do I know? I’m a happily married man. I don’t know a damn thing about seducing blacksmiths.”

“Thanks for the help,” Gavin said with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll give it some thought.”

The next day Gavin arrived at the forge even earlier than Jack, thinking that might look good, but it didn’t seem to help. Jack grunted a hello and then got right back to criticizing Gavin’s technique. Gavin had made a resolve not to say anything, to let it happen, to just take it because then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but eventually, after hours of being mocked and derided, he couldn’t take it anymore, and later Michael would tease him about his bad temper but that was later.

“Why do you treat me like this? Why do you think yelling at me and calling me names and being awful to me is going to make me better? I’m learning, aren’t I? It’s gonna take time, but I can learn without you treating me like this!”

“You’ve made swords, boy. Only one way: pound the metal, heat it, douse it, pound it more, shape it. You have to nearly destroy the steel to make it useful. If you think apprentices are any different, you’ve not been in this business long enough.”

“I’m flesh and blood, not steel and fire! A word of praise once in a while wouldn’t kill me!”

“Is a word of praise going to help you learn?” Jack was very close to him, he realized, and for all that his beard was the color of flame and his face was red, his eyes were clear and blue.

“It would make me feel less worthless,” he said quietly, and Jack’s face softened a little. “You simply don’t need to be so hard on me.”

Jack put a hand on his shoulder, broad and callused. “We’ll see,” was all he said, but that was enough.


	19. The Prince of Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This awesome suggestion for Ryan and the Minilads was provided by an anonymous user going by NoNamePls. (For the inspiration for the Minilads, check out sweetsweetsweeties.tumblr.com) Apologies for the lateness, I've been away a lot and also, you know, closing up the semester, so I've had papers and things. Next time (hopefully coming more promptly!) will be the death of a king. Enjoy!

“Your Majesty?” King Ryan looked up from his scroll to see the young nursemaid standing in the doorway looking haggard. “The children are asking for you.”

“Hm. I’m busy at the moment. Have them brought to me tonight.”

“Tonight is the feast for the Northern ambassador.”

“Ah, yes. Tomorrow then.”

“With all respect, Majesty, you’ve said the same thing every day for a week. They miss you, sire.” He set down his quill and looked at her. To her credit, she dipped her head in deference, but normally such impertinence would never be tolerated from a girl more than ten years his junior. Just as she would not risk offending him as the king, he wouldn’t dare offend her as a nursemaid, because who else could handle the little devils of his children?

“I will be right in, then. I have petitioners waiting but I suppose if the children can behave themselves…”

She looked immensely relieved for the prospect of a break. “The little princes have been pining for you, Majesty, but otherwise perfect angels. They’re a credit to you in every way.”

“Hm. I should think so.” He stood, stretched, and followed the girl to the nursery wing, and just inside played the three boys. Only two were his, bastards both and of different mothers, Michael with his copper curls and Ray with his black eyes. A boy called Gavin, he thought it was, played with them often, the son of his captain of the guard. It was good for boys of an age to play together.

“Little princes, your father the king is here,” the nursemaid said, and Michael’s eyes couldn’t have shown brighter if they were candles. All three boys jumped up and Michael ran at Ryan, clutching his leg. Ray was close behind, and Gavin hovered at a safe distance behind them. “Oh, now, what have you been taught about how to address the king?”

Ray remembered his manners first. He was the youngest of the group, just past two years of age, but he bowed deep all the same. “Hello, Majesty,” he said in his sweet little voice, and Gavin and Michael echoed him. Ryan couldn’t help but laugh and he knelt to look eye-to-eye with them.

“Good morning, lads. How fare you?”

“Well, sire,” said Michael eagerly. Ryan smiled and kissed him on the temple. He pulled Ray into his arms and ruffled Gavin’s mop of sandy hair.

“What good manners you’ve learned. Do you think you can behave yourselves if you come to court with me?” They nodded. Michael, as the heir and almost five years old, wanted to prove that he was almost a man grown, Gavin loved the little tastes of court life that he say, and Ray, as the baby, just wanted to go where his friend and brother went.

It was funny, Ryan thought as he led the boys down to the throne room– Ray in his arms, Michael’s hand in his, and Gavin holding Michael’s other hand– that of the three, only Gavin looked as though they were related, and Gavin was the only one who had no relation to him at all. True, there was something of him in the set of Michael’s chin, and in the curve of Ray’s eyes, but all in all they resembled their mothers more than they did him. That was fine. Their mothers were comely, his lads would grow up every bit as handsome as princes should.

The petitioners made no mention of the fact that their king was sat elegantly on his throne, dressed in the finest velvets and furs, gold crown perched on his head, and yet had three young boys playing at his feet. Occasionally they would look a little horrified, and once or twice they smiled or waved at the little princes. Mostly they ignored them when they approached their king for supplication, for money or grain to last them the winter.

Gavin was a naturally loud boy and his voice naturally trended towards shouts and clamor. Acceptable for a child, to be sure, especially not of noble birth, but Michael learned his lessons well, and he hushed Gavin if it seemed he was getting too rowdy. Ray seemed to be playing an intricate game of his own invention involving a complication series of hand motions and finger patterns. Between patrons, Ryan would watch him and try to determine the rules of the game (his conclusion was that the rules were ever-changing, or there simply were none).

Finally, about two hours later, the petitioners had been taken care of, and a very tired Ray was allowed to climb into Ryan’s lap to curl up and fall asleep. Ryan looked down at him fondly, noting how soft and sweet he looked in sleep with his round cheeks, thick dark waves of hair, and little rosebud mouth. Michael tugged on the leg of Ryan’s trousers. “Majesty?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“May Gavin and I play outside today?”

Ryan smiled. “Yes, if your nurse will take you. The weather won’t be lovely for much longer, and it’s good for boys to breathe the fresh air.”

“Thank you, sire. May Gavin stay the night as well?”

“Ah, you ask as much of me as my people do! Yes, lad, he may.” It was good that they were such close friends. It was good for Michael to have a friend outside of court. He stood, Ray still slumbering in his arms, and took Michael’s hand again. He doted on the boys like a grandmother might, and he was well aware of it, but they needed a good paternal presence, and a parental one as well; Michael’s mother had long since left him and Ray’s had passed, so Ryan was the only parent left to them, and they needed a father as much as a nursemaid.

Yes, sometimes his lads were a handful, but he wouldn’t have them any other way.


	20. Winter is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's the end! Fare thee well, loyal readers. It's been a blast, but I need my break from medieval AUs right now. This, uh, lovely Mavin fic was requested by the user Shinju_Tori. Sorry that it may not be very Hamlet-y. I haven't read Hamlet in a long time.

The first time Michael met King Gavin, he was wearing roughspun and virgin leather, tanned himself. He was working in the royal stables, wiping down one of the lords’ horses, a beautiful bay mare who was nearly as flighty as her owner, who never bothered to brush her himself. “Hush, now,” he murmured to the beast, who shook her head nervously.

“You’re good with her,” a voice said from on the other side of the animal. Michael ducked around the horse to see the king in his riding gear, holding an apple.

“Majesty!” Michael fell to his knees, but Gavin shook his head.

“Oh, no, not here, you don’t have to do that.” Michael pulled himself to his feet tentatively and brushed the dirt from his trousers. “Is that Lord Ryan’s horse?”

“Oh. Yes. Beautiful girl she is, if he’d only treat her a little more softly. She’s shy, she needs to be handled carefully.”

Gavin cocked his head and held out the apple to another horse in the stables, a hardly palomino mare that Michael thought must be his own. “I’ll be sure to let him know that,” he said thoughtfully.

“No! Begging your pardon, Majesty, but it’s not my place to say things like that. Don’t tell him, please, I’ll only get myself into trouble.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” Gavin smiled wide, and it was so infectious Michael had to smile too. “As for your place, well, I’m not sure you and I agree on where that is exactly. You think it’s here, quiet in the stables, while I think that your place might be by my side for dinner tonight. What do you think?”

He accepted with a stammer. Later he’d consider it the best decision he’d ever made.

The first time Michael realized he was in love with King Gavin, he wasn’t wearing anything at all. It had been a long day for both of them and Gavin found his best relaxation technique involved being wrapped up so tightly with Michael that the only way to mark where one ended and the other began was to trace the freckles.

Gavin was breathing heavy by the end of it. “You’re good with your hands, did you know that?”

“I did know that, thank you. There’s nothing you can tell me about my body that I did not already know.”

Gavin grinned like the devil himself and Michael knew he was in for trouble then. “Oh, is that so? So you know about how ticklish you are right here?” He jabbed Michael above the hipbone and Michael squirmed away. “Or how I can trace Cassiopeia on your shoulder? Or how you are without a doubt the most beautiful man I have ever seen?”

“Men aren’t beautiful,” Michael mumbled, embarrassed. “They’re handsome.”

“Handsome, then. I have no qualms about calling you that, either.” Gavin buried his face in the crook of Michael’s neck and sighed as though he couldn’t be happier. “Did you know that I love you?”

He hadn’t known, nor had he known right until that moment exactly how he felt either. “Did you know that I love you as well?”

Gavin grinned. He hadn’t known either. “I do now.”

So it didn’t seem fitting, truly, that when Michael had to say goodbye to King Gavin for the final time, he was dressed, and not in roughspun, but in fine velvet. He hated that he had to wear black, because although it was custom, Gavin was always so colorful, and he always said how much he loved Michael in greens and blues. He hated how stiff and cold Gavin looked with his hands folded serenely instead of lit up like gunpowder, filled with this ecstatic eccentricity that he’d never found in anyone else before or since.

As Gavin’s official lover, he was allowed to pay his respects first. He stood beside the body that had once held Gavin and bit his cheek to keep from trembling. “You always said that you didn’t want to ever again live in a world that did not have me in it,” he said softly, “so I don’t know how you expect me to do the same, you selfish bastard. You never– fuck, Gav. I’m no good with words. I’m sorry. I know how much you loved poetry, but I can’t do that, I wasn’t born to do that like you were.”

He fiddled with the sleeves of his doublet. “I suppose I’ll just have to say all the things I don’t have anymore, now that you’re gone. I’ve lost my friend, my lover, my king. No one’s going to find constellations on my body anymore. No one is going to wake me up with a smile on their face because they were too excited to see me again that they couldn’t wait for me to wake up on my own. No one is going to tell me they need me more than crops need sun, because no one’s going to need me now. What am I supposed to do now that no one needs me?”

He wasn’t outright crying now, but he was shaking a little. “There’s no me without you, Gavin. I know you always laughed when I said that but I meant it. I’m not me without you, not really.” He pressed his palms to his eyes, just so he wouldn’t have to look at Gavin anymore. “Why’d you have to get consumption?” he said softly. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to go like this.”

“My lord, the other mourners would like to take their time,” a servant said, touching Michael gently on the arm and snapping him out of his grief.

“So they may,” he said in a clipped tone. “Farewell.” He turned away and left, letting the overdramatic wails of women desperate to be seen mourning echo in a room that, even filled with people, felt empty without Gavin’s laughter in it. He didn’t attend the funeral that night. There was no point.

He never saw Gavin again.


End file.
